


The Knock at 3AM

by Anonymous



Series: Despite the Winter Winds [4]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cold War, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, KGB, Lubyanka, M/M, Nightmares, cold war au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ross dreams of the KGB and the Lubyanka.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins (Treasure Island)/Ross Poldark
Series: Despite the Winter Winds [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687876
Kudos: 15
Collections: GatheringFiKi - H/C Bingo 2021





	The Knock at 3AM

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Helpless

The knock always comes at 3 am. 

It comes when you are sound asleep and least prepared for a sudden invasion of your home. Or, even if you are prepared, it is when you are the least capable. It is when you have finally given up, when you think that maybe you are safe and you can crawl into your bed beneath the blankets to get some sleep.

Or maybe it has been weeks and you think that you have escaped detection, when you think that maybe the babushka down the hall, the grocer, or the young man you pass each morning on your way to work and sometimes buy contraband Marlboros from, has not sold you out. Not that they would turn you in because they do not like you or out of some ill-conceived loyalty to the State; no, they just fear the Lubyanka as much as you.

But then the knock comes.

And you are helpless.

* * *

_ Ross cannot remember how he got here—the backseat of a Black Mariah. His blood throbs in his head and he tastes blood. _

_ A pained whine catches his attention and he is surprised to see Jim wedged in between him and the heavy faced man by the door.  _

_ “Jim?” Ross tries to reach for him, but is stopped by cold metal on his wrists. _

_ “I’m okay…” Jim’s voice is muffled by his hands that are pressed to a profusely bleeding cut on his forehead, but Ross still hears a quaver that makes him sick. Blood drips from Jim’s nose down his chin and stains his white undershirt. _

_Ross twists to address the man on his other side. “_ On americanets, _”_ _he says thickly, he tries to explain, to give Jim a way out. “He’s American.”_

_ “ _ Itak? _ So?”  _

_ Jim’s hand finds Ross’ knee in the dark of the car. Ross tries to hold it the best he can; his twines a few fingers in with Jim’s own. There is no point hiding anymore. _

* * *

_ Ross does not think he has slept since the moment they woke up to the loud knock on the door of Ross’ one-room apartment. They had not burst in. They had waited to be allowed in. They had been more than happy to wait for the inhabitants of the home to willingly open the door; to let in the men who would arrest them and turn their lives upside down. _

_ It is worse than them bursting in, that mental torture of taking the door knob in hand, turning it, and opening the creaking door to see men dressed in black standing patiently. “ _ Komitet. _ ” And knowing that your neighbors heard the knock, that they are cowering in their own homes, relieved that the knock did not come on their door. _

_ An officer keeps asking him questions, but Ross does not have any answers for him. His memories of what happens after he says “ _ Ye ne znayu.  _ I don’t know,” are hazy and tinged with red. He just wants to see Jim. He has not seen him since they were yanked from the car after entering an iron gate in the mustard yellow, so common with Soviet architecture, and muted red Baroque revival building.  _

_ “ _ Gde on?  _ Where is he? I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just let me see him.  _ Pozhaluysta.  _ Please,” he begs. _

_ There is a rapid fire conversation between the man calling himself Colonel Burov and someone just outside. Ross catches almost none of it.  _

_ Burov grabs Ross’ arm and drags him from his seat. He nearly falls and Burov yanks his arm nearly from it’s socket to keep Ross upright. Ross catches the insult that Burov spits at him, but he does not care; he just hopes that they are taking him to Jim. He should deny knowing Jim, but he cannot remember why right now. _

_ The hallways are dark and narrow.  _

_ Ross squints when he is dragged through a door into the sunlight. The space is narrow; the sun flashes over the crenellations. Burov turns him forcefully to look at the far side of the courtyard. _

Jim.

_ Ross takes a step forward but Burov tightens his hold on Ross’ arm.  _

_ “ _ Pochemu?  _ Why?” Ross knows that he is missing something, but he cannot figure out what. Something is not right. _

_ Burov nods in Jim’s direction.  _

_ Jim’s shoulders are hunched, his shirt is torn and spattered with more blood than there had been the last time Ross saw him.  _

_ A flash of silver on the barrel of a gun catches Ross’ attention. _

_ “ _ NYET! _ ” _

* * *

Ross bolts upright in bed, his chest heaving. The sweat on his skin turns cold when the blanket slips away.

Jim makes a small noise of protest next to him.

Ross’ hand shoots out and he grabs Jim’s arm. The solid, warm, weight of Jim’s skin in his hand and the soft sounds of Jim’s breathing in the room with the muffled sounds that came through the thin walls reassures Ross. 

Jim shifts. The springs creak in protest. “What’s wrong?” Jim mumbles.

Ross shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says as much for his sake as for Jim’s.

He reminds himself that they are in Glebovskoye Podvorye, Moscow’s predominantly Jewish neighborhood, and the residents have more reasons than most to distrust the State’s officials. He remembers the proprietor’s face when Jim had handed over a ridiculous amount of American dollars after Ross stressed their desire for discretion and privacy.

Ross takes a deep breath.

The room is the same as it was when he fell asleep. He can see it clearly in the moonlight that pours through the small, uncurtained window. His loaded Makarov is still on the table. The chair is wedged beneath the doorknob—Soviet hotels rooms did not have locks, something that had surprised Jim when he first noticed it. 

Jim tugs on Ross’ arm. “Come here.” His speech is still slurred with sleep. Ross is still surprised that Jim can sleep so deeply.

Ross takes one more look at the room before laying back down and tugging that blanket up to his chin. 

Jim promptly curls around him. “What was it about?”

“What?”

“Your dream.” Jim presses a kiss to Ross’ chest and settles back down.

“KGB,” Ross whispers as if the name will summon the  _ Komitet _ ’s agents. His accent softens the sounds, Kay-Guh-Beh; it softens the fear.

Jim’s reassuring presence softens the panic still galloping in Ross’ chest. He still jumps at every sound until he falls asleep while focusing on the rise and fall of Jim’s chest and the steady thud of his heartbeat.


End file.
